


Meanwhile...

by JoseyxNeko



Series: Ineffable Idiots (Bureaucracy and Husbands) [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Allusions to smut, Author can't write smut so just makes jokes instead, Comedy, Confrontations, Crowley ruins everything, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, Gabriel likes to talk, Gifts, Heaven, Hell, Hell has Starbucks, Home Decorating, How do you tempt an Archangel?, Humor, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Innuendo, M/M, Mild Gore, More tags will be added as I add more chapters, No I insist in yours, No seriously it's fluff, No sex is written though, Other, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Beelzebub (Good Omens), POV Gabriel (Good Omens), POV Michael (Good Omens), POV Multiple, Sentient Bookshop (Good Omens), Suggested Smut, a little violence, because hell, beta'd FOR ONCE, inbetween, no chickens were harmed in the making of this story, poor eric, suggested dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-01-30 21:31:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoseyxNeko/pseuds/JoseyxNeko
Summary: Gabriel and Beelzebub are getting an Earthly Residence.They've left the organisation of that to the Demon Crowley.They could trust the Demon Crowley, right?A mishmash of POV's over the same time period, encompassing Crowley's latest cock-up, with what is going to be asatisfyingend chapter.This story directly followsFallen for You. The events of that story, and other stories in this series, are referenced throughout.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Idiots (Bureaucracy and Husbands) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1496468
Comments: 50
Kudos: 108





	1. In Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Ok.
> 
> This took me a _while_.
> 
> Huge amazing special thanks to [vol_ctrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vol_ctrl/pseuds/vol_ctrl) and [ingafterdark (ingthing)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingthing/pseuds/ingafterdark) for beta-ing this for me, and keeping me honest! They write some incredible work, so read them if you get the chance.
> 
> Thanks also to the [Ineffable Temptations 18+](https://twitter.com/IneffTempt) Discord server for keeping me sane whilst my brain failed to function.
> 
> Character Pronouns  
They/Them - Beelzebub, Uriel  
She/Her - Michael, Dagon  
He/Him - Gabriel, Aziraphale, Crowley, Sandalphon, Lucifer, Hastur  
Singular He/Him, regardless of how many of him is being referred to - Eric the Disposable Demon
> 
> Please enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael's POV of Heaven during a trying time for Gabriel.
> 
> Followed by Gabriel's POV of being absolutely, mindboggingly in love, and then everything goes tits up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ineffable Bureaucracy fans everywhere.

Michael had been refilling the pen cup on the desk in Gabriel’s office when a piece of paper spontaneously appeared upon it, drawing her attention. As she leaned forward and squinted to read it, a voice made her jump.

“Michael. What are you doing at my desk?”

Gabriel was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, with a look of curiosity on his face.

Curiosity, but not suspicion.

_Good._

She turned her body to face him, smoothly sliding the paper off the desk and into her hands behind her back.

“Gabriel,” she smiled pleasantly. “I was just refilling your cup with more pens. Can’t have you running out of ink; not with all the important memos and documents you’ve got to write.”

Gabriel strode over and, as he looked at the desk behind her, she gripped the paper more firmly in her hands, wrinkling it. He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled.

“I see. Thank you, Michael. Have you got any more cups to fill...?”

He was trying to get rid of her, and for once, she was happy to oblige.

“Just Sandalphon’s, but we’ve been giving him space since the whole paper shredding incident, as you well know. I might just keep them to myself until he asks for them,” she replied with a sigh.

“Good idea. See you at the next briefing.” Gabriel patted her shoulder, and moved to sit at his desk. He looked pointedly at the door.

“Of course, Gabriel.” She bowed her head at him politely, and went on her way.

Once safely back in the confines of her own office, she locked the door and looked at the note more closely. It smelled distinctly of sulphur, and the scrawl upon it was near indecipherable.

_Desk Warehouse_

_Tomorrow Noon._

So after Michael had initially discovered their little consorting, the little play-dates between Gabriel and the Prince of Hell had continued? That explained why he’d been so distracted lately. She _had_ thought that he’d been spending a lot of time on Earth ‘jogging’. And he frequently came back with new suits.

The last time an Angel got too close to the opposition, the Apocalypse was averted, and he’d become exiled from Heaven forever.

It so wounded Michael to know that Heaven had lost one of its Angels to the temptation of an agent of Hell. She decided she was going to do everything in her power to prevent that from happening again.

_Let’s put a stop to these shenanigans, shall we?_

To determine the meeting location, all she had to do was check the Earth Surveillance records she’d gotten a hold of before the department suddenly, and mysteriously, ceased operation.

_This_ was going to be a piece of Angel cake.

\--

The first week had been fine.

Michael, having successfully intercepted the Demon Prince Beelzebub on Earth and smote them back to Hell, returned to Heaven in a cheerful mood. She looked forward to seeing Gabriel’s attention once more undivided.

Gabriel had looked a little uneasy, but he got on with his duties as usual. Blessings got approved, miracles signed off, and Heaven was finally returning to a state of harmony.

Poise and order.

Just the way Michael liked it.

Then he started getting distracted.

“Gabriel, this needs your consideration, if you could just look at it for me, and-”

“Not now, Michael. I have to- I have things to do.” Gabriel shoved the document away, and hurried past her.

“Yes _now_, Gabriel. It’s your duty to look at this. You’re the Archangel Gabriel; you should be acting like it,” she insisted, pushing the paper towards him again.

He stopped, looked at her, blew out his cheeks, and snatched the document out of her hands.

“Anything else, Michael?” He asked, haughtily.

She smiled broadly at him. “That’s all for now. Oh, but if you could-?”

He’d already walked away, slamming the door to his office.

Another week passed, and the Angels had scarcely seen or heard from Gabriel, except for the weekly briefing. Even then, he didn’t contribute at all and left as soon as Sandalphon had said ‘meeting adjourned.’

“Something’s up with him.” Uriel pointed their chin at the doorway where Gabriel had scrambled out faster than a Weaponised Cherub on Valentine’s Day.

Michael slid her chair closer to them and rested her elbow on the desk, jaw in hand, looking in the same direction as her fellow Archangel. “Hmm, do you really think so?”

“I thought he’d have been in more of a state after the averted Apocalypse, but he was surprisingly perky,” Uriel replied.

“Hmm...” She added helpfully.

“Like; _chipper_,” they continued. “But now…”

“Well what do you think could’ve happened to him?” Michael asked with feigned innocence.

“Probably something to do with his frequent visits to Earth,” Uriel said with a set jaw. “Whatever was making him happier down there isn’t doing so anymore.”

Michael turned to look at them. “And quite right too,” she said. “Now that he won’t be wasting his time on Earth, he can get back to working on behalf of Heaven and the Almighty.”

Uriel barked out a hard laugh and returned the look. “He was more productive before he holed himself up in his office, ignoring everyone.”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it and be his glorious self once again soon,” Michael said wearily, although she was beginning to doubt that herself.

“We’d better hope so. Imagine spending the rest of eternity with _that_.” Uriel got up, brushed non-existent dust from their clothes, and left Michael alone to her thoughts in the meeting room.

Michael had done the right thing, she was sure of it. She must’ve done; she’s an Angel. Gabriel would get over it soon enough. It was only a _Demon_ that had been having its way with him. She’d freed him from the clutches of lust and temptation. If he ever found out it had been _her_ who had convinced the Prince of Hell to stop seeing him, he would probably thank her. But he’d never find out. There was no way.

The next day, Gabriel’s office was vacant, and he was nowhere to be found in Heaven.

He’d gone back to Earth.

_Shit._

\--

“Michael. A word in my office.”

It wasn’t a request.

It was an order.

Michael swallowed.

She was in trouble.

The door closed itself behind her with a click.

Gabriel had been gone for approximately one Earth month, by Michael’s estimation. He was looking remarkable composed; nothing like the distracted, harried Archangel he had been before he left.

He sat against his shiny, heavenly desk, stacked high with paper, and glowered at her.

The look would’ve held more weight, if it weren’t for the fact he was radiating love like a star going supernova.

“What can I do for you, Gabriel?” Michael asked sweetly.

“You can start by explaining yourself,” Gabriel nearly growled.

He was angrier than she was expecting. Maybe she should lighten the mood.

“I’ll start with a joke,” Michael began. “An Angel, a Demon, an Archangel, and a Demon Prince walk into a fine dining establishment- stop me if you’ve already heard this one.”[1]

Gabriel looked furious. “What business is it of yours who I was meeting on Earth?”

“Well I think it to be the business of Heaven, if one of its Archangels is being tempted by the opposition-”

“You _smote_ Lord Beelzebub,” he interrupted, unable to restrain himself from getting to the point any longer.

“I smote a Demon,” she corrected.

“You smote my _lover!_” Gabriel snapped.

Michael’s hand flew to her chest in shock. She’d thought that perhaps their relationship was just one of convenience. She hadn’t considered that there may have been _feelings_ involved.[2] “A Demon’s a Demon, Gabriel, and that one is one of the worst! You should never have been meeting with them in the first place.”

“You had your connections. I wanted to make some of my own,” he defended himself.

“Yes, but my connections don’t leave me speechless six ways from Sunday!”

Gabriel’s mouth opened and closed in shock a few times before he retorted, “We’re in _love_.”

Michael scoffed. “No, _you’re_ in love. _It’s _a Demon.”

“Demons can love. At least,” he considered, “this one can.”

“Oh really?” Michael said doubtfully.

Gabriel grunted. “They don’t always show it in the most conventional way, but I do believe they love me.” His ears turned pink, and his love radiated a little bit stronger.

“It told you as much, did it?”

“Stop referring to Beelzebub as an _it._ They are a _they_, and _they_ don’t need to. Beelz isn’t really big on words.” He nodded in self-affirmation. “But they’ve more than shown me.”

“What, did it bend over and let you drive for once?” She scorned in rhetoric.

Gabriel flushed a crimson pink, and coughed into his hand. Michael blinked.

“Gabriel. Lust _isn’t_ Love. You know that,” she spoke sadly. She approached him, and went to place a hand on his arm.

He shrugged away from her touch, moving to the other side of his desk, placing his hands on the back of his chair.

“Michael, you’re pissing me off.”

Michael gasped. “Gabriel! Language! The Demon Prince must be rubbing off on you.”

Gabriel blushed again. Michael thought about what she just said, and actually slapped her hand across her forehead in disbelief.

“I’d like for you to leave us alone,” Gabriel uttered quietly.

“I’m trying to help you. You should be thanking me,” Michael said helplessly.

He ignored her plea. “If I find out you’ve approached Beelzebub a second time, Almighty help me, I don’t know what I’ll do to you. But you won’t like it.”

“Are you... threatening me?” Michael was stunned.

“Goodbye, Michael.” He sat at his desk, and started to arrange the pile of documents that he’d allowed to build up over the past month.

Michael stood in silence for a second. This hadn’t gone the way she’d wanted it to. Her fists and jaw clenched, and she turned on her heel.

She slammed the door behind her as she left.

\--

Gabriel had been much angrier with Michael. He was furious with her; the most furious he’d _ever_ been. He had fully intended on showing that fury, and exercising the full extent of his wrath.[3] Except...

Except Beelzebub had said they weren’t bothered by it; the smiting.

They were a Demon, and so they were smote.

It was the natural course of things. Gabriel himself used to think that way too, not so long ago, but now the thought made him sad, and he knew he was part of that problem.

The only reservations Beelzebub had about the Archangel was that..._what had their exact words been?_

_Michael is a wanker._

Whatever _that_ was.

Left to his own devices, Gabriel found he didn’t have any more thoughts to spare for Michael, who should leave well alone as long as he fulfilled his Heavenly duties.

The only thoughts he had were about the Prince of Hell.

He was _in love_ with Beelzebub.

Truly.

Madly.

Deeply.

Completely, and utterly, infatuated.

He loved how Beelzebub made no apologies for their actions. How there was nothing artificial in their demeanour. They never tried to please anyone.

They were just themself. Just Beelz.

And their inability to process and cope with emotion was simply _endearing_.

Gabriel loved how they took control whenever they were together; setting the rhythm, deciding which direction things were going to go. He felt...so well _cared_ for, even though Beelzebub would scarcely admit to it. And they were so good at it. Gabriel didn’t know that such pleasure could be possible; and with a Demon, nonetheless!

He’d taken a risk, he had known, the one and only time _he’d_ opted to be the one pushing _them_ down, and consequently taking them for a ride. In any other circumstances, they might have pushed him away, taken back control, and maybe even punished him.[4] 

But, in that particular moment, Beelzebub had been so overwhelmed with rage and anger, Gabriel used that emotional ineptitude to influence their fury into a positive--overwhelming. Well, as positive as you could get with the Prince of Hell. He had looked into their eyes, seen that their emotions were running high, that they were suggestible in that state, and took his chance.

And then there was their most recent liaison--when Beelzebub had returned to him after their extended absence in the wake of being smote by Michael. Maybe he _should_ thank her for that after all, because although he had to stand outside that wretched bookshop for a month and broker _another_ deal with those damned traitors, when Beelzebub slipped their arms around him and buried their face in his chest…

His. Heart. **Sang**.

In that moment, Gabriel felt as though he could forgive the gravest of sins.

Then Beelzebub had said they _liked_ him! It was as an Angel, granted, but Beelzebub had _actually _experienced a positive emotion towards him. A positive emotion other than _horny let me fuck you._[5] 

He’d given them the gifts he’d intended to give as a three month anniversary present,[6] although they had become a four month anniversary present, due to how long the Demon Prince had avoided him for.

He saw the reverie on their face as they dragged the whetstone along their sabre, and felt the warmth that seemed to emit from their body at the feel of the blade sharpening under their touch.

_“I love it.”_

The reaction was better than he could ever have hoped. A gift in itself.

Then Beelzebub had given him themself.

They hadn’t needed to. That’s not why he had given the gifts in the first place. He had just wanted to make the Demon Prince happy. As happy as a Demon could be, anyway.

But they had wanted him, and he wanted them in return.

And that was enough. Except Beelzebub continued to surprise him, and began shedding their layers, allowing Gabriel to finish the job.

The thrill he felt at being the one to remove their clothes; the _only_ one to remove their clothes. The reveal of skin, the touch of flesh, access to more of them than what they had previously allowed. He burned the image of their body into his mind. Gabriel had had no expectations for what Beelzebub’s body may have looked like, as, frankly, he couldn’t care less. It didn’t matter. All he was interested in was Beelzebub. Their being. Their essence. _Them._ And now they were allowing him just a little bit more.

Gabriel was finally breaking through Beelzebub’s icy, disinterested demeanour.

And now he was beginning procedures to share an Earthly Residence with them.

He’d left the organisation of that to the Demon Crowley.

He could trust the Demon Crowley, right?

\--

He could _not_ trust the Demon Crowley.

Gabriel left his office after finally completing his backlog of paperwork from his one month bookshop stakeout--during which he had been trying to get the Demon Crowley to retrieve Beelzebub from Hell--and immediately noticed that the other Angels were giving him funny looks.

Well, he _had_ just been away for a month, and hadn’t answered any calls. They were right to be at least a little apprehensive. He wouldn’t pay it any mind.

He spotted Michael, who froze when she saw him. She shook her head, and carried on passing by, muttering to herself.

That could easily be explained by their last encounter. He carried on going about his business.

Sandalphon marched right up to him, flanked by Uriel, but stopped just outside of reaching distance.

“How could you?!” he sniffled, looking Gabriel up and down as if he were unclean.

“How could I...what?” Gabriel asked, masking his uneasiness at the question.

Uriel lifted a piece of paper, and held it in front of Gabriel's face. His eyes narrowed in on it.

** _Tenancy Agreement_ **

_Tenant 1: Archangel F. Gabriel_

_Tenant 2: Lord Beelzebub_

A human Tenancy Agreement for an abode on Earth.

Gabriel hadn’t expected Crowley to send anything like this to Heaven.

“This showed up in the Earthly Residings department,” Uriel said matter-of-factly.

Gabriel had forgotten that there even was an Earthly Residings department.[7] 

His mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

“You abandoned your Heavenly post for a month, returned overflowing with Love, and it’s for a Demon?” Uriel asked him, filled with scepticism.

A variety of noises left Gabriel’s mouth as he tried, and failed, to form words. His hands gestured lamely by his sides.

This was it. 

He was doomed.

He’d given this some thought before, when he first started meeting Beelzebub, and for the life of him, he didn’t think what he was doing could be considered _wrong_. He was a being of love, and he was _in_ love. It’s what he was made for. And sometimes that love included being tied up and face-fucked by his Demon lover-

He mentally slapped himself across the face. He had to keep a clear head if he wanted to make it through this.

“I have no idea what that is or where it came from,” Gabriel attempted.

Uriel turned the sheet of paper around for themself and Sandalphon to squint at, then flipped it back around to face Gabriel.

“It’s an Earthly Tenancy Agreement. And that’s your name on it,” Uriel clarified.

“And the name of the Prince of Hell,” Sandalphon added snidely.

Maybe he should just tell them. Come clean. What was the worst they could do?

They could exile him.

“Obviously that’s some kind of joke,” Gabriel argued confidently, trying to keep up his bravado.

“Oh no, we’ve checked this out. This is legitimate,” Uriel said.

“You can’t just fake documents like these,” Sandalphon continued.

If not exile, then it’d be _falling_.

The other Angels couldn’t make him fall. Only the Almighty could fell an Archangel, and _She_ hadn’t done so since the last war in Heaven. It had also been millennia since _She_ directly communicated with anyone. Gabriel wasn’t even sure if even the Metatron was in frequent contact with _Her_.

Public knowledge of his relationship with Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, could fracture Heaven. The Celestial plane had only just started to function normally after the chaos that had ensued after Armageddon was averted, worsened _exclusively_ by Sandalphon's paper-shredding incident.

He couldn’t do that to Heaven. He didn’t want to upset the other Angels; his family.

He was out of excuses. No defences left.

He was found out.

“_This_ is what you’ve been keeping yourself busy with this since the Don’tpocalypse?” Uriel asked in disbelief when he said nothing more.

“Nahpocalypse,” Gabriel croaked automatically, his corporation inexplicably experiencing a dry throat.

“What?” Uriel said, confused.

“Nahpocalypse,” he replied, clearer. “It’s better, don’t you think?”

Uriel seemed to consider it for a moment, and their mouth twitched up in a small smile. They slapped their hand against his upper arm.

“You should’ve let us know that you were taking on a personal project. We could have helped you!” They said approvingly. Sandalphon harrumphed.

“I, uh, _what?!_” Gabriel couldn’t quite understand what was happening here.

Had Heaven found out about his relationship with Beelzebub or not??

“Blessing the Lord of the Flies to righteousness must be no easy task. Who knew you’d been weakening the opposition’s stance by taking the Prince of Hell and bathing them in divine love?! Truly Heaven’s finest at work, always thinking of the greater good.” Uriel went on, oblivious to the somersaults that were happening in Gabriel’s brain trying to follow their logic.

“Uh,” he answered eloquently.

“That _is_ it, isn’t it?” Sandalphon added. Gabriel looked at him. “There could be no _other_ reason for you to hold an Earthly Residence with a Demon, if it were not to trap them and try to bring them to the light?”

Gabriel had no words.

“This was the only conclusion we could come to, Gabriel,” Uriel said.

He cleared his throat. “Uh...that’s because it’s the right conclusion, Uriel! Sandalphon!” He put on his best business smile, and clapped his hands once.

The pair of Angels before him visibly relaxed, and became all smiles.

“So how is it? Must be awful to spend all that time in the presence of a _Demon_,” Uriel asked with interest.

“I bet the sulphury smell is unbearable,” Sandalphon said, wrinkling his nose.

Gabriel found the smell of Brimstone to be quite comforting by this point.

“It’s certainly been a challenge,” he replied, rubbing his hands together, “influencing them with _good_. I swear most days, I am flat on my back with exhaustion.”

The Angels in front of him nodded enthusiastically, encouraging him to go on.

“Their..._Demonness_ really leaves me quite speechless. They’ve got me bending over backwards with my hands full,” he went on.

They continued to look at him expectantly.

“It leaves me quite tied up, but you know me, happy to be taking one for the team,” he beamed, giving a resounding nod.

The other Angels looked at him in awe.

“How long do you think until you’ve fully weakened their position?” Uriel asked hopefully.

Gabriel blew out his cheeks, like he did whenever he was asked something he didn’t know the answer to. “I can feel their defences coming down, but it could be years yet. Decades. Centuries even. They are quite the...” He cursed himself for using this word, “_Adversary_.”

Uriel and Sandalphon looked affronted. “That’s quite a long time,” Uriel said downtrodden.

“Patience is a virtue,” Gabriel reminded them.

“Why use such an unconventional method...?” Sandalphon trailed off.

Gabriel thought for a moment. “...These are unconventional times! Without the War to defeat our enemies, we have to come up with new plans and ideas to assail the opposition,” he bullshitted.

He felt wretched. This wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to refer to Beelzebub as his enemy. He loved them. He wanted to be able to share his love for them with his colleagues, his _family_.

But they’d never understand.

He suddenly found himself sympathising with Aziraphale, for what was _not_ the first time.

He felt even more wretched.

With his explanation to his fellow angels accepted, he excused himself, and beelined for Earth.

\--

“**DEMON CROWLEY**,” Gabriel bellowed outside the bookshop door.

The windows rattled, and dust fell from the highest shelves, scattering to the floor.

Somewhere, a car alarm went off.

“He’s not in.” Aziraphale popped open the letterbox and peered out of it.

It appeared as if the bookshop was still refusing to open its doors for the Archangel.

Gabriel dropped to his knees with a thud, and glared towards the blue eyes.

“Your Demon- He- He-!” The Archangel was seething with anger. It was not helped by the blue eyes rolling in their sockets.

“Do something _Demonic_, did he?” Aziraphale asked sardonically.

_“He revealed my relationship with Beelzebub to Heaven!”_ Gabriel hissed.

The exiled Angel sighed and tutted, muttering _‘Explains a lot...’, _as if finally understanding something from the Demon’s behaviour earlier in the day. “You seem alright though?” He hedged. “Not fallen, I see?”

“Of course I’ve not _fallen,_” Gabriel said, making his favourite patronising face. “Only the Almighty can fell me. You know that!”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale hummed. “It would appear that _She_ doesn’t seem to mind your relationship then. And what of the other Angels? How have they responded? Exiled you, as you all have me?” His tone was petulant.

Gabriel faltered. “No.”

“No?” The Angel asked, curious.

“They- they think I’m trying to bless Beelzebub, or bring them to the light, or something. It was all very confusing.” He furrowed his brow.

“Oh. And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you _blessing_ Lord Beelzebub?”

“Of course not! I love them as they are!”

“So,” Aziraphale began primly, “you’re in love with the Prince of Hell, you’re getting an Earthly Residence with them, Heaven _knows_, and it’s all been accepted?”

Gabriel blinked.

“What exactly _is_ the problem?” The Angel asked.

Gabriel’s anger fizzled out. “It’s a miracle that it went as well as it did. They could’ve _exiled_ me. They could’ve prevented me from coming to Earth to see Beelz. I don’t think I can live without them anymore,” he confided.

Aziraphale scoffed. “As if they could prevent you from doing _anything_. You’re the Archangel Fucking Gabriel.”

Gabriel was appalled, and equally delighted, to hear Aziraphale swear, and quote his own words back to him. All the tension left the Archangel’s body, and he rested his head against the bookshops wooden door.

“Are you calm now?” Aziraphale asked tentatively.

“Calmer than I was,” he answered, unmoving.

“Good. Let’s go see Crowley. He says your flat is ready.” He jiggled the door handle inside the shop, and the door didn’t budge. “Oh _come on_, I’m leaving, he’s not coming in!” He snapped his fingers and jiggled it again.

“Would you like me to...?” Gabriel pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Oh yes please, that would be very helpful. Just go down there, walk towards the main road, that’s right, keep going...” Aziraphale got quieter and quieter the further down the road Gabriel walked.

As if by magic, the bookshop door finally opened, and Aziraphale stepped halfway out.

Gabriel miracle zipped back to stand next to Aziraphale, just as he had done that time when he was jogging in the park.

The bookshop door swung shut so abruptly that it smacked Aziraphale in the backside, causing him to stumble forward. There was a locking sound.

Gabriel sniggered.

“_Rude_.” Aziraphale said towards the bookshop, before turning to look at Gabriel. “Both of you!”

The Archangel rolled his eyes as a Black Cab pulled up. They both got in, and away they went.

\--

“Whitechapel? This is a joke, right?” Gabriel grumbled as the taxi pulled up outside a tall tower block.

“I believe the joke is that it’s actually Shadwell,” Aziraphale sighed, exiting the vehicle.[8] 

Gabriel, confused, said, “I don’t get it.”

“No? Well, never mind. Apparently you’re on the top floor.”[9] 

It was a calm, almost serene elevator ride. Aziraphale broke the quiet as they neared their destined floor.

“Please don’t smite him,” he said uncomfortably.

Gabriel snapped his head round to look at him. The ex-Principality was looking at the floor, nervously twisting that ring of his around his little finger.

“He’s a Demon,” he continued in a small voice. “It’s what he does.”

Aziraphale hadn’t even begged at his own execution. Now, here, he was asking for mercy for a _Demon_.

Gabriel tried not to think of the circumstances that he might have to do the same for Beelzebub.

_Tried._

Angels had always had the upper hand with the whole _smiting_ thing.

Demon getting in the way of your plans? _Smite_.

Demon bothering you? _Smite_.

Slow Friday night? _Smite_.

He thought of Michael, pining Beelzebub to the floor, hand glowing with divine retribution, Beelzebub screaming-

“I won’t smite him, Aziraphale,” the Archangel huffed, a shudder silencing his own thoughts.

The Angel’s face lit up with the most genuine smile Gabriel had ever seen on it.

“That’s very gracious of you. Thank you.”

The elevator doors opened to a small corridor with doors either side. There was one slightly ajar at the far end, and that was the one they were heading for. They walked through it, and into a room bathed with light. Floor to ceiling windows surrounded them, opening to a magnificent view of the business district, where Heaven and Hell HQ was located.

"Of all the views in all of London, why this one?" Gabriel scoffed.

"We thought you might enjoy walking to work together." Aziraphale suggested.

Gabriel gave him _that™ _look. "We're supernatural beings we can just," he mock-snapped his fingers. "Why would we walk to work?"

"To spend more time together?" The Angel rocked back onto his heels, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

...Smart.

Gabriel said as much. "Smart. That's smart." 

Except that Beelzebub was agoraphobic. They’d work out the fine details later.

He looked around the apartment, taking in its decor.

It didn’t have any.

The walls were red brick, and the floors and doors were wooden, but other than that; it was completely empty.

Well, aside from the Demon Crowley leaning against one of the aforementioned doors.

A reminder of his earlier annoyance nagged at Gabriel as he saw the aloof Demon lounging around casually, as if he hadn’t just nearly destroyed his existence, in possibly more ways than one.

It must’ve shown on his face, because Crowley suddenly stood up straight and put his hands in the air defensively.

“_You’re_ the one who asked for our help with this. The tenancy agreement _had_ to be sent _somewhere_,” he snarked. “Those things can’t just be miracled away. Trust me, many people have tried.”

Gabriel set his jaw. “You could’ve sent it directly to my desk?”

Crowley frowned. “I thought I had. Where did it end up?”

“The Earthly Residings department.”

Crowley seemed to consider that for a moment, then his eyes went wide behind his dark glasses and he sidestepped behind a waist high wall made of...cupboards?

“Who saw it?” He asked tentatively.

“Everyone,” Gabriel said calmly.

Crowley made a sort of high pitched noise of understanding before clearing his throat.

“So you’ve been exiled then?” He asked.

“No.”

“Fallen?” The Demon asked dubiously.

“Hell no.” Literally.

Crowley hummed in acknowledgement of what was a pretty good joke, in Gabriel’s opinion.

“It’s been accepted, and Heaven is surprisingly ok with my relationship with Beelz. Or, what they understand my relationship with Beelz to be,” the Archangel corrected himself. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you could’ve had us both _destroyed._” He bit out, his anger rekindling.

Crowley waved his hand dismissively, stepping back out from behind the cupboards.

“Well, look,” he began, “Think of it this way. I’ve already made it up to you by finding you an ideal flat in Central London. No easy feat, I assure you. Take a look.”

Gabriel shook his head, clearing it of any rage, and had a look around. He clicked his tongue.

"I was expecting....something bigger," he critiqued.

"_Oi_," the Demon Crowley jabbed his finger at him, offended. "This is plenty big enough for a-" he cringed, "a _love nest._ And it's not as if you're paying the rent."

"Who _is_ paying the rent, my dear?" Aziraphale asked curiously.

"My celestial wages." Gabriel answered.[10] 

Aziraphale's mouth opened in shock. "You're _miracling_ them away? I've paid real human money on my shop for over 200 years. Humans rely on that money to go into the economy, Gabriel. You may as well have an offshore account for all the good you're doing."

Gabriel shifted uncomfortably. "I don't have any human currency. I could miracle up some-"

“Don’t you dare!” Aziraphale said, appalled. “You’ll drive up the rate of inflation!”

Gabriel lifted and dropped his arms exasperated; he really had no idea how Earth worked. At all.

"Look, get yourself a bigger flat once you get some money," Crowley dismissed, eager to continue his tour. "For now; _this _is your kitchen."

It was the waist-high wall made of cupboards he’d stepped behind earlier. He realised there were more along the floor and the walls, and there was a large silver box, with a glass front, wedged amongst them. On the wooden surface topping the cupboards was a square of black glass with four rings painted on it.

Gabriel scoffed. "What's a kitchen?"

"Humans use them to store and prepare meals. You know, _food," _Aziraphale answered.

The Archangel turned up his nose. "Why would I want Gross Matter in my domicile?"

"Because your _lov- lo- _you know what, I can't say it. Your companion indulges in gluttony. Think about them," Crowley answered.

Ah. The Demon was right. Gabriel hadn't thought of that.

Well. Cooking was a human thing, right?[11] 

"And what's through there?" He gestured towards two wooden doors on the far wall past the _kitchen_.

"Well," Crowley said jauntily, "the door on the left leads to the bedroom, and the door on the right leads to the bathroom."

"There's a room specifically for just a bed?" Gabriel questioned doubtfully.

He didn’t get an answer. The other supernatural beings just gave each other a look and blushed. Gabriel quickly moved on, lest he miracle gross matter into his stomach and puke.

"I'm an _Angel._ What use to me is a bathroom??"

Aziraphale and Crowley gave each other another look.

"We'll let you figure that one out on your own," Crowley said.

Overall, it seemed like a pretty basic apartment. Nothing too special. Nothing that would leave the Demon Crowley being so smug about his find.

"I don't see what's so special about this place," Gabriel grumbled.

Crowley smiled a wide, wicked smile, flashing all his teeth.

"Once that door to the corridor closes; it becomes perfectly, one hundred percent, _Soundproof,_" he said.

Gabriel considered this.

"It’s perfect. I love it."

\--

“Before you go,” Gabriel began, as the Demon and Angel made for the door, “Crowley, you didn’t send a copy of the Tenancy Agreement to Hell as well, did you?”

The Demon Crowley made some very annoying, non-committal noises in place of an actual reply.

“Crowley??” The Archangel began getting genuinely worried.

He made a few more noises before saying in a rush, “Ok, good to see you. Enjoy the flat. Bye!” The Demon clung to Aziraphale, snapped his fingers, and popped away in an instant.

Gabriel swore under his breath, but before his concern could set in, the door to the apartment opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Footnotes **
> 
> 1 The premise sounded so absurd, it made Michael chuckle inside.[return to text]
> 
> 2 Neither had Lord Beelzebub, to be honest.[return to text]
> 
> 3 ...but he wouldn’t call it _that_, because it’s a sin, of course.[return to text]
> 
> 4 Which, frankly, sounded like it could’ve been fun.[return to text]
> 
> 5 Their negative emotion was _angry let me fuck you_, and their neutral emotion was _bored let me fuck you_.[return to text]
> 
> 6 Because that’s a totally normal human thing to do.[return to text]
> 
> 7 There had only ever been one Angel to require it.[return to text]
> 
> 8 A portion of Shadwell and Whitechapel overlap. That’s where this tower block was located.[return to text]
> 
> 9 They could’ve opted to locate their former bosses as far from them in Soho as possible, but the joke was too much for Crowley to resist:  
_”When he’s at home, Gabriel will be in Shadwell!” Crowley snickered to himself._
> 
> _“You speak as if the sixties didn’t happen,” Aziraphale huffed and rolled his eyes._
> 
> _Crowley promptly shut up._ [return to text]
> 
> 10 Celestial wages is Heaven slang for ‘miracles’.[return to text]
> 
> 11 So was ordering _take out_, he would later learn.[return to text]


	2. In Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the same time Gabriel was confronting Michael in Heaven...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to the wonderful [Vol_Ctrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vol_ctrl/pseuds/vol_ctrl) for beta-ing! He writes incredible Ineffable Bureaucracy, a bit raunchier than mine, so go check that out!
> 
> There's a lot in this chapter that I really like and makes me laugh, so let me know your favourite bits in the comments <3

Aziraphale had Crowley pinned against one of his bookshelves. Their bodies were pressed together, lips locked, and their lust was running rampant. He slid his hand into the Demon’s hair, and tugged roughly, snapping his head back to expose his neck.

“My, how the tables do turn,” he purred, sucking and biting the soft flesh along his jaw.

Crowley whimpered.

“You know,” Aziraphale continued, running his hands down the length of Crowley’s body, stopping at the buckle of his belt, “I don’t think we’re going to make it upstairs, do you?”

The Demon looked wantonly at him, and then shot a look towards the bookshop door. It obligingly locked itself, and drew its own blinds.

Aziraphale beamed at him. He grabbed him by his hips, spun him around, and hoisted him up onto the miraculously cleared table to their side.

“The desk, Angel?” Crowley stammered, taking his sunglasses off and flinging them to the floor.

Aziraphale hummed provocatively. “I’ve heard it can be good fun,” he waggled his eyebrows at his love.

Crowley blushed and made a choked, eager noise, nodding.

Aziraphale smiled, gripped his thighs, and pulled him towards the edge of the table until their hips were flush. Crowley leaned back on his elbows as the Angel undid their flies and reached in, taking them both in hand.

The shop bell rang.

Aziraphale’s hand stilled.

The door had been locked, and the bookshop had been adamant recently about keeping certain other supernatural beings out.

“Busy?” A familiar, amused, buzzing voice sounded.

Crowley yelped in a very high pitched tone, reminiscent of a female-presenting human of school age. He rolled off the table in a rush, falling to the floor with a thud, and scrambled to hide underneath it.

Aziraphale rested his hands on the desk, now bereft of what they were previously clutching, and couldn’t help but smile in exasperated amusement. He zipped himself up, and turned to greet the intruder.

“Lord Beelzebub, a pleasure to see you. How may I be of assistance?”

It turned out that the bookshop only took umbrage with one supernatural being in particular. This was not him.

“I require...advice,” the Demon Prince said, clearly uncomfortable despite the buzzing of glee their flies were giving off.

“Of course Lord Beelzebub. May I interest you in a cup of tea in my backroom?” Aziraphale bowed and gestured to the room behind him, hoping to give Crowley the chance to right himself.

“Coffee,” Beelzebub replied as they made their way towards him. As they walked by the cleared desk, they banged their fist on it loudly, causing the cowering Demon beneath it to jump in shock, bumping his head. The Demon Prince snickered.

\--

Beelzebub squinted at the shiny Angel pouring coffee into a dainty teacup before them. It had flowers printed on the side, and when he passed the cup and saucer over to the Demon Prince, the flowers wilted. The Angel paid it no notice.

This wasn’t an ideal situation. They hadn’t wanted to come ask for assistance from these traitors, but in this case, they had no one else to turn to.

Also, if they had to be honest,[1] it was quite fun tormenting the Demon Crowley. His reaction this time had been especially entertaining, and it only spurred Beelzebub on in wanting to disrupt his life.

They lifted the teacup to their lips and took a sip. The coffee was good.[2] 

“So,” the prim Angel sank into the armchair across from Beelzebub, who was sat on a worn sofa, “you say you need our advice? How may I help you?” He repeated his earlier question, cradling a ghastly looking mug that had angel wings as the handle.

Beelzebub continued to sip at the coffee for an excessive amount of time, avoiding answering the question, which wasn’t at all constructive as _they_ had been the one to come _here_. If they wanted any help on this matter, they were going to have to voice their concerns out loud. They placed the teacup carefully back onto its saucer, the Angel patiently waiting for an answer.

“What’s the human protocol when receiving a gift?” they asked gravely.

The Angel rested his mug on his lap and looked at them. “Excuse me?” he asked politely.

“When a human receives a gift, what action do they take in response?” Beelzebub clarified, irritated that they had to ask the question twice.

The Demon Crowley chose this moment to waltz into the room, and perched himself on the arm of the Angel’s chair. The Angel placed his hand on Crowley’s leg, his face thoughtful.

“May I ask what the occasion was?” he asked delicately.

“Why does that matter?” Beelzebub scowled.

The Angel smiled warmly. It gave Beelzebub chills. “If the occasion were a birthday, for instance, then I believe a simple thank you would do. But if the occasion were a reciprocal occasion, such as Christmas, or, say, an _anniversary_-”

“That one,” they interrupted.

“I’m sorry?” The Angel asked confused.

“That last one you said. Annie-ver-zary. What’s the protocol when receiving gifts for one of those?”

The Angel and Demon Crowley looked to one another, and then back at the Demon Prince.

“I should think the correct response would be to give a gift in return,” the Angel replied sincerely.

Ok, good. They had their answer. They went to stand up, but sat right back down again, realising they really didn’t.

“What would be a good gift?” Beelzebub asked, unsure.

“That would depend on who it’s for,” Crowley snarked and swung himself up off the chair to saunter over to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a drink.

They ground their teeth. “You _know_ who it’s for.”

“What if we’re wrong?” He feigned ignorance, and articulated very carefully, “I think it’s _very_ important that you clarify for _whom_ you are getting this gift.”

Beelzebub considered drawing their freshly sharpened sabres on the Demon Crowley for being so obstinate, but there was a Principality sat across from them, and being smote was not a feat they wished to repeat.

They took a deep breath, and said through clenched teeth, “What would the Archangel _fucking_ Gabriel like as a gift?”

“That stick out of his arse, for one.” Crowley drawled, waving his glass around, the contents sloshing around but staying within the container.

“Crowley!” The Angel scolded. “Someone has come to us for advice! Be more forthcoming.”

“’m a Demon.” Crowley mumbled, chastised, into his drink.

Beelzebub couldn’t argue with that. And sometimes, Gabriel _did_ have a stick up his arse.

They stared at the Angel, waiting for an answer. He cleared his throat.

“Well, I’ve never...I’ve never gotten Gabriel a gift before,” he stammered. “It would help to know what his interests are. Has he shared any of them with you?”

Beelzebub thought back. The only thing the Archangel had shown an interest in was them.

They said nothing.

The Angel waited a few more seconds, before trying to coax an answer from the Demon Prince again. “N-nothing at all? He hasn’t taken you anywhere, seen anything?”

Beelzebub tended to be the one to take him.

They still said nothing.

“The vain bastard has a hard on for those bespoke, pretentiously dark white suits,” Crowley chimed in, knocking back the rest of his drink, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

“His suits are _grey_,” Aziraphale huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. Maybe get him something like that?” The Demon shrugged and put his glass down. Beelzebub found themself disappointed that Crowley hadn’t indulged in a second drink. _Not very Demonic of him_, they grumbled internally.

The Demon Prince considered it. They _could_ tear his newest suit apart, and offer to replace it for him? No, that was _stupid_. This whole thing was stupid. They buzzed, “I’m not buying him a suit.”

“It’s not a _bad_ idea,” Aziraphale said, and then quickly clarified as Beelzebub narrowed their eyes at him, “Not the suit. But perhaps you could consider getting him an article of clothing. Something he can wear and think of you?”

A memory bubbled up through Demonic gloop to the surface of Beelzebub’s mind, where something echoed that they themself had said.

_“You’re like a pet.”_

Gabriel had even _told _them what it was that he wanted. Why had it taken a trip to this infuriating bookshop for them to remember?? Beelzebub was pained at how obvious it had been.

They got up to leave. “I have my answer,” they stated, not sharing their conclusion with anyone.

Crowley stood behind Aziraphale’s chair as he got up to see Beelzebub out, but the Angel blinked as if suddenly remembering something.

“Oh, Lord Beelzebub! Before- before you go, we...have a request,” he stammered nervously.

These traitors had the audacity to _request_ something of the Prince of Hell?

They had to admire them for that. “What?” They asked, bored.

“Um, Angel, now _might_ not be the best time...” Crowley began, looking uncomfortable.

The Angel shushed him, “This might be the only time, dear.” He turned back to Beelzebub. “Lord Beelzebub, you see, we- well. We are in rather a bit of a bind-”

“Spit it out.” Beelzebub was getting irritated, and only just managed to keep their Hellish voice under control.

Crowley put his hands on the Angel’s shoulders, as if ready to pull him away at a moment’s notice. Aziraphale cleared his throat and tried again. “Right, yes, well. You see, as you well know, Crowley and I are to be wed,” he said shyly.

Beelzebub sucked at their teeth, waiting for him to continue.

“We- We’re in need of an officiant,” he finished, finally.

Beelzebub cocked their eyebrow in confusion. “Why not ask Gabriel yourself?”

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other baffled for a moment, before their features cleared in realisation, and the Angel said, “Oh no, my dear, we meant you.”

Beelzebub buzzed loudly, their hands twitching, itching to draw their sabres in threat. “**What** did you call me?”

“Oh shit, you’ve angered it.” Crowley pulled the Angel back to increase the distance between them.

Aziraphale shook him off, thinking back on the exact words he’d just used. “What did I-...? Oh, um, I believe you mean the term of endearment; _my dear_.”

The buzzing quietened and carried on as a low undertone. “A term of _endearment_?” They asked, unsure. Aziraphale relaxed and nodded. “On a _Demon_?” they demanded, anger settling into irritation.

The Angel smiled. “Crowley doesn’t seem to mind,” he said, gesturing to the Demon behind him, who was casually pretending to be busy eyeing up some books on a tall shelf whilst actually monitoring the conversation closely.

Crowley’s head snapped round at the mention of his name. “Don’t bring _me_ into this.”

“Of course he wouldn’t mind. You’ve ruined a perfectly good Demon. Look at him, he’s infatuated.” Beelzebub griped, gesturing with their hand, and then crossing their arms in annoyance.

“Oi-” Crowley began, before getting cut off.

“In all fairness, he was never a very good Demon.” Aziraphale countered.

“_Oi!_” Crowley said again, in a more annoyed tone. “Can we _stop_ insulting me, _please_?”

“I never intended it to be an insult,” the Angel said defensively, as Beelzebub said at the exact same time,

“You make it so easy.”

Crowley threw his hands into the air in exasperation, and went for that second drink. Beelzebub felt as if they had won a battle.

“Lord Beelzebub, do you have an answer?” Aziraphale tried getting back to their previous conversation.

Beelzebub tried to think. In their enraged state, they couldn’t even remember a question being asked. The Angel noticed their confusion.

“We were asking you to marry us-” he began.

“No we weren’t,” Crowley interrupted.

“-to _officiate_ our wedding,” Aziraphale corrected himself.

Ah. That was why they hadn’t remembered. Because the mere suggestion had been_ fucking ridiculous._

“Why me?” Beelzebub asked hesitantly.

The Angel and Demon took each other’s hands, looked at each other, and then back to the Demon Prince.

“You’ve been most supportive of our relationship,” Aziraphale answered, “You had no qualms with us getting engaged, even when Gabriel did-”

“That’s because I’m not a fucking hypocrite,” Beelzebub growled, losing patience at the suggestion that their behaviour might have been deemed _nice_.

“-and your flies delivered that note on your behalf, indicating that it was indeed safe for us to, uh...” Aziraphale struggled to find the words.

“Fuck.” Crowley and Beelzebub finished for him at the same time. They looked at each other, and then away in disgust.

The Angel turned a light shade of pink. “Yes, well. If it weren’t for you, we probably wouldn’t even be able to k-kiss.”

Beelzebub turned on Crowley. “I ordered you obliterated, you moron.”

The Demon made some non-committal noises before answering, “Ngk, it was a fair trial.”

“You didn’t even have a defence!” The Demon Prince argued, trying to dismiss the notion that anything in Hell could be considered _fair_.

“To defend me from what?! Excuse me _Hell_, but I’ve fallen in love with an Angel and the world, and I don’t much like the thought of losing either one of them?!” Crowley bit out in a voice that got increasingly mocking, even though he was parodying himself.

The Angel’s face softened. “Oh, _Crowley_,” he said all doe-eyed. It made Beelzebub’s stomach churn.

“NOPE,” they buzzed, “Stop! Just- Don’t. No!” They cringed and shook themself out. “This is a fucking terrible idea.”

“Terrible _is_ what we do,” Crowley reminded them.

“Not like _this_! I’m out. I’m going. Resume your foreplay or whatever.” They gestured to the pair with a flippant wave of their hand, and marched towards the shop door.

“Please consider our request, won’t you?” Aziraphale called after them.

Beelzebub flipped them off with both hands without looking back.

\--

“Well that went down like a lead balloon,” Crowley exhaled.

“It always does when you’re involved,” Aziraphale tutted. “You don’t think they’re moving too fast, do you? Lord Beelzebub and Gabriel getting a flat together so soon?”

“Not everyone needs six millennia and world ending event to get together, you know, Angel.” If Aziraphale didn’t know better, he’d assume Crowley sounded bitter about it.

“Hmm,” the Angel hummed. “Was there any particular reason why we shouldn’t have asked Lord Beelzebub about the wedding _now_?”

Crowley finished his second drink. “They’re expecting Post.” He grabbed the Angel around the waist, and spun him in a small circle. “Now, where were we?”

Aziraphale giggled, and said flirtatiously, “Foreplay.”

\--

The nerve.

The cheek.

The _balls_ on those two to make such a request of the Prince of Hell.

_Marry _them_?!_

Beelzebub was a judge _one time_ and suddenly everyone’s asking them to officiate their wedding.[3] 

Filled with a new fury, they were fully prepared to take their frustrations out on the masses of Hell; anyone who dared get in their way.

As they entered Hell’s gate, however, the denizens parted ways, like Moses and the sea,[4] clearing a path in front of them. Beelzebub felt the eyes of countless Demons on their back as they approached their throne room, being followed all the way. The Demon Prince entered, closing the door behind them, and then turned, confused to see Dagon, Hastur, and an Eric stood by their throne. Dagon looked gleeful, Hastur looked his usual despondent self, and Eric was...Eric; sickening enthusiasm.

Beelzebub drew near to them, but before they could get the _‘wh’_ of their _‘what the fuck is going on?’_ past their lips, there was a loud popping noise and brittle paper streamers landed on their head, falling over their face. Dagon smiled, holding an expired party-popper.

A deafening cheer erupted from the hallway behind the closed door.

They looked to Hastur to be the voice of logic. He smirked begrudgingly. “Corrupting the forces of Heaven? That’s good work.”

Nope. No logic to be found there. Even he wasn’t making any sense.

Finally, Dagon elegantly thrust a piece of paper in Beelzebub’s face.

** _Tenancy Agreement_ **

_Tenant 1: Archangel F. Gabriel_

_Tenant 2: Lord Beelzebub_

They snatched it from her hand, buzzing and vibrating in rage. The paper crumpled under their grip, but it didn’t set alight like they expected it to.

Right. Tenancy Agreements: one of Hell's finest works.

“This doesn’t mean anything. This isn’t real,” they said as deadpan as they could manage over their building fury. They should’ve disembowelled Crowley when they had the chance.

“Not just that, my lord. Earlier today Ligur’s phone received a call from an old connection from...” Dagon pointed towards the ceiling.

Beelzebub’s buzzing quietened in curiosity.

“Wankwings said it was a last ditch attempt, or something. Told us what you’ve been up to on Earth.” Hastur said gruffly.

Their buzzing increased tenfold. The streamers on their head burned up and fizzled away into ash. The cheering from the hallway quieted as the Demons of Hell covered their ears against the piercing sound.

“No need to be so secretive, my lord,” Dagon said, snatching the document away from them and straightening it out. “It would make sense that you’ve been keeping yourself occupied with a personal project. Eric told us all about it.”

“Eric?!” Beelzebub spat, glaring at him in angry disbelief.

“Ma’am, Sir,” Eric bowed deeply with an exaggerated wave of his arm. “I had no idea I was treading on your toes when I captured that Archangel-” He’d been wearing that like a badge of honour.

“He_ let_ you capture him; you complete moron- Dagon, how many Erics are currently in corporation?”

Dagon checked a clipboard that suddenly appeared in her arms. “Four.”

“Make that three,” Hastur grunted. “I’ve just sent one into the pit with the remaining Hellhounds. Made a mint in bets and favours,” he smirked to himself. Dagon adjusted the paperwork.

“Make that two.”

Beelzebub’s buzzing got near unbearable as it filled the ears of everyone in the near vicinity. They pulled Eric down, sunk their teeth into his throat, and ripped it clean out of his body.

The buzzing quietened, and a single drop of blood fell from Beelzebub’s lips before everything that was that Eric burned up in much the same way the paper streamers had.

Beelzebub breathed a sigh of contentment. They needed that. They shook out their limbs, dragged the back of their hand across their mouth, and sat down heavily on their throne.

Dagon adjusted the Eric paperwork further, and squinted to look at the Tenancy Agreement again.

“What do you think the _F._ stand for?” She asked curiously.

“Fucking Hell,” Beelzebub said under their breath to themself, ignoring the question.

“He’s fucking all of Hell?!” Hastur exclaimed in disgust.

“Everyone needs to shut up and leave me alone.” Beelzebub rested their head in their hands.

“But my Lord, you’ve tempted an Archangel! This is cause for celebration.” Dagon was jubilant.

“I don’t want it.” They _were_ going to kill Crowley. They could see it now. Tear him apart with their bare hands. Rip off all his limbs, so he was just a head and body, like the snake he was.

Music started outside the chamber door, and the sound of several thousand Demons stomping their way through the hallways began.

One of the remaining Erics popped his head through the door, and looked at the charred remains of his doppelganger uneasily before saying with an infectious grin, “The party is getting started. Come join us, your majesty!”

If there had been more Erics wandering around, Beelzebub would’ve encouraged the door to close on his head, decapitating him. As it stood, they never left Hell with fewer than a two Erics at any given time.[5] 

They glared.

They ground their teeth.

**“OUT!”** they shrieked.

The Eric yelped, and ducked back out the door, closing it and cutting the volume of the music flooding into the room. Dagon and Hastur stayed where they were. Beelzebub glowered at them.

**“You too. LEAVE.”**

The Duke of Hell and the Master of Torments chuckled to themselves, and walked towards the door.

“We’ll give you time to fester, my lord, but eventually you’ll have to tell us the secret to tempting an Archangel,” Dagon said cheerily.

Beelzebub buzzed so loudly that the music was drowned out when the door opened. They quieted down again at it closed, and they were all alone. They waved their hand towards their desk, and it skidded across the floor to barricade the threshold.

They couldn’t recall Crowley getting this kind of attention when everyone found out he was banging that bookshop Angel. Then they realised that people didn’t necessarily know about that. Maybe they could use that as a distraction.

\--

After what felt like days of blaring music and stomping, and more than one case of a fight breaking out over dance moves being stolen,[6] Beelzebub felt it was high time some work got done, and opened their court to an audience.

It was _not_ high time.

It was the _wrong_ time.

Floods of Demons came in, one after another, placing tributes at the foot of Beelzebub’s throne.

It began with food, mostly. Chocolates, muffins, doughnuts, pizza, that deep fried chicken sandwich that used chicken instead of bread, a stick of butter- it was all extremely bad for you, and coincidentally, also Beelzebub’s favourites.

There were endless cups of coffee; all black, like Beelzebub’s heart. They were also all filled with sugar, which was nothing like Beelzebub at all.

Then they started to receive rusty old weapons, blunted through use over time.

Demons kneeled in front of the offering, bowing their heads low.

“Please, Lord Beelzebub, your Excellency, please tell us how to tempt as well as you,” they chorused together.

“I didn’t even tempt him!” Beelzebub snarled, kicking over one of the cups of coffee, burning the closest Demon. The Demon squealed in joy.

“Lord Beelzebub is humble! We pledge fealty, Lord Beelzebub! Fealty!”

“You’ve already pledged fealty!” They said, and then under their breath, “you _fucking idiots._”

As more Demons came in bearing gifts, it tipped Beelzebub over the edge.

“**Enough**. No more gifts! Only enter with temptation reports and requests! You only get an audience if you’re doing work.”

No one came in.

“For fucks sake.”

They closed their door again.

\--

To get away from the chaos and devotion in their throne room, Beelzebub went to the pit to watch the rejected Hellhounds. Since the Nahpocalypse, Hastur had opened a betting ring: how long could an Eric last in the pit? There was still pointy fuzzy hair dangling from one of the slobbering maws.

It was quiet now. The Disposable Demon hadn’t multiplied further since his last discorporation. He was fed up of Hastur using him as game, and even the Duke of Hell won’t go against Beelzebub’s wishes of a two Eric minimum. The Disposable Demon must’ve been keeping his wits about him.[7] 

The Prince of Hell noticed a presence next to them. They were handed a cup of Starbucks coffee.

“Lucifer,” they addressed him.

“Lord Beelzebub,” he raised his own cup in a small toast, and sipped at it. He hissed, “Ouch, too hot!”

It always was.

Beelzebub took big mouthfuls of their drink, ignoring the burn. They let out a satisfied sigh, but said nothing more.

Lucifer leaned back against the pits railings, to better look at the Demon Prince.

“So...” he began, “I hear you’ve been putting in extra hours up on Earth.”

Beelzebub side-eyed him and said nothing.

“Something about tempting an Archangel?” Satan tried again.

Beelzebub looked into the pit, sipping their drink.

“Rumour has it that you’ve done the unthinkable and bedded the bastard-”

“We don’t use beds,” Beelzebub corrected, bored.

“Wow, I do _not_ need to know the details,” Lucifer nearly choked on his drink.

“Then, _what_?”

“Lord Beelzebub,” he began, “...that’s my brother.”

The Prince of Hell lifted their coffee cup to their face to hide the amused twitch of their mouth. Banging Gabriel had more unexpected benefits than they thought.

“He’s not been your brother for eons,” they drawled disinterestedly.

“Still,” Lucifer said, clearly uncomfortable, “_that_ brother, _really_?”

Beelzebub choked back a laugh, and tossed their empty coffee cup into the pit. The Hellhounds growled and fought over it, gnashing their jaws menacingly. It was the closest thing to cute Hell had. They began walking away.

“Why him? Why _that_ one?” He called after them. “Why not Michael?”

“Michael’s a wanker!” They called back, resisting the urge to make a rude hand gesture at their boss.

\--

Arriving back in their throne room, it was clear that the tributes had increased in number.

There was now a mixture of clothing, sex toys, cookware, letters of devotion, Pokemon Cards, rocks, some sort of mosaic that looked Roman, miniature replicas of their sabres, a saddle, some questionably sticky Eric hands, a distinctly Trojan looking wooden horse, lingerie, a medieval emasculation tool, blacked-out paperwork that had been redacted to spell out swear words...

...and _was that a live chicken?!_

This was ridiculous.

“DAGON.”

“Yes my Archangel tempting Lord.”

“You left this here,” they handed her the blacked-out paperwork from the tribute pile.

Dagon giggled. “I thought you’d appreciate another gift.”

“I want to be **feared**, not _adored,_” Beelzebub groaned, pulling at their hair.

“Why not both?”

The Demon Prince ignored the question. “The Demons hands are too idle. Give them more work to do.”

“On the contrary, my Lord. Temptation numbers are up!” Dagon said cheerily.

“They are?!” Beelzebub nearly choked in disbelief.

“In the past week, more souls have been secured for our master than in the entire time since the Nahpocalypse. You’ve inspired them. Everyone wants to tempt like their Lord Beelzebub.”

Beelzebub thought about it, coming up with a decision.

“Then I don’t need to be here,” they said, resolutely.

“My lord??” Dagon dropped the blacked-out paperwork and file she was holding.

Beelzebub strode with intent to their desk, and picked up the Tenancy Agreement that they’d carelessly flung there. They scoured it for the address.

“I’m taking leave. Forward all my messages and paperwork to here.” They shoved the document against a shocked Dagon’s chest. “Don’t try to contact me. I’ll contact you as necessary.”

“L-lord Beelzebub?” She stammered, trying to get a grip on what they were saying.

“Oh, and probably best if no one visits. You know how trigger-happy those Archangels can be.” Beelzebub fired their finger like a gun, turned on their heel, and marched out the door.

Before it swung shut, they stuck their head back in the room, glancing at the contents scattered along the floor. They snapped their fingers, and a portion of it disappeared, including, but limited to; all the food items, the saddle, the lingerie, sex toys, and the still clucking chicken.

They left.

They looked in again and snapped up the Pokemon cards too.

Then they really left.

\--

As Beelzebub reached the door to the Whitechapel flat[8] they felt a burst of occult energy that felt distinctly snake-ish. They’d missed the traitors by _that_ much. Lucky for Crowley.

They didn’t hesitate. They barged right in, Gabriel stood in the middle of the room looking baffled and relieved, and just...

Collapsed face down on the floor.

“Beelz?!” The Archangel asked in concern.

“Shhh,” Beelzebub waved their hand dismissively at him, forehead pressed to the ground.

It felt like an eternity since they’d had any peace and quiet.

He knelt down next to them, lowering his face as far as it would go to try and look them in the eye.

This could work.

They grabbed him suddenly, and threw him onto this back...

...and rested their head against his shoulder.

“Beelz, what happened? Are you alright-?” Gabriel tried again, worry in his voice.

Beelzebub rested their fingers against his lips, sealing his mouth shut.

“Talk later. Sleep now.”

They hadn’t realised how exhausted the chaos of Hell had made them. It had been one constant stream of anger, stress, and stupidity since their visit to those idiot traitors. They yawned deeply.

Gabriel lifted his head to look at them, and then let it fall back onto the floor with a soft thud.

“I could miracle us a bed?” He suggested against their fingertips.

Beelzebub shook their head, rubbing their face into his chest. “No time. This’ll do,” they mumbled sleepily.

“It’ll really take no time at all-”

But Beelzebub was already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Footnotes **
> 
> 1 Which they didn’t. They’re a Demon.[return to text]
> 
> 2 The Angel would live to see another day.[return to text]
> 
> 3 It wasn’t everyone. It was literally just these two.[return to text]
> 
> 4 Beelzebub hadn’t been there, but they’d received the reports.[return to text]
> 
> 5 Beelzebub would say it was because having two Eric's around was useful, as he could be used as a communication device due to his telepathic link with himself, and that it had absolutely nothing to do with Eric’s fear of being alone. Nothing merciful about it at all. Move along.[return to text]
> 
> 6 They’re Demons. They’re all stolen.[return to text]
> 
> 7 The more Erics there were, the less common sense he seemed to have. There was only so much to go around.[return to text]
> 
> 8 _'Great fucking joke, Crowley,'_ they thought to themselves.[return to text]


	3. In Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub wakes in their new London flat, takes in the view, and settles in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. _Look._
> 
> I know it's been literally months waiting for this chapter, and I thank you for your patience. I'll put my excuses at the end.
> 
> Until then;
> 
> Please enjoy! <3
> 
> And thank you again to the wonderful [Vol_Ctrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vol_ctrl/pseuds/vol_ctrl) for beta-ing! He writes incredible Ineffable Bureaucracy, a bit raunchier than mine, so go check that out!

Beelzebub awoke to the sound of Gabriel talking. Because of _course_ they did.

They blearily blinked their eyes open, and lifted their head from Gabriel’s shoulder, revealing a wet patch on his shirt from where they’d drooled during their sleep. They’d leave it there; he was the one who loved them, against all better judgement. He’d have to accept this kind of thing from now on.

Just like Beelzebub would have to accept that Gabriel was apparently a _sleep talker_.

It would figure that an Archangel who loved the sound of his own voice so much would speak even without conscious thought. He must have decided to give sleeping a try, since he had nothing better to do, and Beelzebub wouldn’t be moving any time soon.

“L...Beelzb....Harder....mmm,” he mumbled with a goofy grin and then a frown on his face.

Content in the knowledge that no one was watching, Beelzebub allowed a smile to play on their lips.

Now fully rested and alert, the Demon Prince looked around to take in their surroundings.

They were still on the floor where they had face-planted the previous day. They knew a day had passed, because the rising sun was peeking over the horizon, reflected in the windows of the skyscrapers opposite.

Beelzebub stood, the view leaving them feeling as if the air had been punched from their lungs, and walked towards the window. They rested their head and hand against it, and stared out at the sight of London waking up for a new day.

It was so vast. It was so open. The sky was so impossibly enormous above them.

And they felt safe.

Safe in their little glass box of a flat.

Crowley, the traitor, had done well.

They were still stood there several hours later, nose pressed against the cool glass, the sun high in the sky, when Gabriel stirred.

“Beelz?” He called groggily, getting up and moving to stand beside them.

They didn’t reply. Just kept on staring out at the world.

Gabriel’s hand appeared in front of their face, having passed through the glass as if it were water. He waved it, condescendingly saying, “Heaven to Lord Beelzebub!”

Beelzebub phased their own hand through the glass to knock his out of the way in annoyance. It would be quite the sight to see for any humans watching from outside.

The Demon Prince’s redundant breath fogged up the glass as they continued to admire the view and ignore Gabriel.

“Enjoying the view, I see,” he said, clearly desperate to hear the sound of his own voice.

They stayed quiet for a moment longer, then eventually said, “I’ve never seen it like this before.”

“Hmm?” Gabriel hummed in surprise. “It’s just work. That big strange shaped one over there.”

Beelzebub finally tore their eyes away from the city, and turned to look at Gabriel. His hair was stuck up weird at the back, and their drool had dried into a weird stain on his chest. His tie was askew.

“I _know_ which one work is, Archangel,” they huffed, turning to look back out at the city. They just couldn’t get enough of it. “I just never-” they struggled to put it into words, “I always-...”

“Oh,” Gabriel made a noise of realisation. “Your agoraphobia. Of course! It must be quite daunting for you.”

Beelzebub buzzed low at the notion that they could be daunted by something, but it was mostly because that notion was true.

“You’re doing a good job of it now, though,” Gabriel noted, mildly impressed.

Their buzz quieted into a hum. “The Demon Crowley chose well. Lucky for him, since I was ready to permanently turn him back into a snake and step on him.”

“So you received the Tenancy Agreement in Hell too, huh?”

Beelzebub seethed at the memory of what they had endured for the past week. “It’s been a fucking nightmare- _what do you mean_ _‘too’_?”

They suddenly realised they hadn’t taken a _good_ look at the Archangel since they’d arrived, and their stomach plummeted. Their chest began to beat furiously. Would they even notice if something about him was different?

Something more..._fallen_?

All that time in Hell spent putting up with adoration, and they hadn’t even considered that Gabriel may have received the same damning document in Heaven.

Beelzebub turned to get a good look at him, reaching up to place a hand on his face.

“Aziraphale’s Demon apparently tried to send the document to my desk, but it ended up in the Earthly Residences department,” Gabriel grumbled. “I don’t even know why we have one of those. Only that damned idiot ever needed it.”

“Uh-huh.” They were barely listening.

Gabriel’s eyes remained amethyst swirls, his skin clear. Beelzebub peeked around behind him to look at his wings in the ether; still lavender, sparkly, and still utterly too fancy to be those of an Archangel.

Absolutely nothing about him had changed.

Gabriel followed their gaze, misunderstanding where they were looking. “That’s something called a kitchen,” he gestured to the area behind him, which was very clearly a kitchen, “I was told you could find it useful-”

“What did they do to you?” Beelzebub could barely hear themself speak over the blood pulsing through their ears.

“What did _who_ do to me?” Gabriel asked, confused, returning his gaze from the kitchen.

“Who do you think?!” they snapped, patting at his body as if searching him for the answer. “Heaven! They know about this. They must’ve done something to you. Tell me!”

Gabriel’s face softened into a smile, and he took Beelzebub’s face in his hands. “You’re worried about me.”

They swatted his hands away, grabbing them, but not letting go. “Answer me, Archangel.”

They were sure he could hear the thudding in their chest.

Gabriel considered it for a moment, before saying, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Beelzebub blanched in disbelief. “You’ve never not wanted to talk about anything! Hell of a time to start now!”

The Archangel made _That_™ face. “You don’t want to know.”

“Tell. Me.”

“They-” he began, before continuing uncomfortably, “they didn’t do anything to me.”

The thrumming in their chest slowed. Beelzebub raised a confused eyebrow. 

“The other Archangels misunderstood what the Tenancy Agreement meant,” Gabriel continued defensively as he looked out the windows at nothing in particular.

“And what did they think it meant?” Beelzebub asked, their pulse slowing to almost nothing.

Gabriel looked at them and plastered on a fake smile. “It’s not important. No action is being taken, and that’s what matters.”

The Demon Prince ground their teeth. Not having one of their questions answered was second only to disobedient demons when it came to their dissatisfaction.

“Archangel,” they said unimpressed.

Gabriel focused on them with that stupid smile, and placed his hands on Beelzebub’s shoulders. “You’ll find this really funny.”

Beelzebub’s heart flatlined. They did _not_ think they would find this funny.

“They think, and get this, that I’m _‘bathing you in divine love to weaken the opposition’,_” he scoffed, rolling his eyes stupidly.

“What?” Was all Beelzebub could think to say.

“Right? Oh, and apparently I’m _‘trapping you to bring you to the light’_,” he added, making _That™_ irritating patronising face again.

Beelzebub was right. They didn’t find it funny. And they were going to rip their own heart out if it ever beat for this reason again.

“And are you?” Beelzebub squinted up at the Archangel.

They knew for a fact that he wasn’t.

“Of course not!” Gabriel replied, affronted.

Beelzebub crossed their arms doubtfully. You know, to goad a reaction from him.

“You’re perfect as you are!” he continued, eliciting a slight reddening of the Demon Prince’s face.

They looked away, trying, and failing, to control it. The Archangel noticed, a knowing smile growing on his face.

Gabriel grabbed their chin, and turned them back to face him. He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to theirs.

“Perfect,” he murmured against their mouth.

They turned away again, losing the battle against the blood pooling in their cheeks.

“Handsome,” he continued, purring as he kissed along their jaw.

Beelzebub placed their hands against his shoulders, but didn’t push him away.

“_Divine-_”

“Enough!” They cut him off, grabbed his tie, and pulled him in roughly for a kiss. They pushed him away again, and glared. “Fuckangel. Undress me,” they ordered, not breaking eye contact.

Gabriel didn’t need to be told twice.

He reached down and pushed the jacket from their shoulders. They helped by yanking the sash over their head, and undoing the complicated ribbons around their neck.

Gabriel started on the buttons of their shirt, then impatiently lifted Beelzebub up off the floor. They beat their fists against his chest in protest, but as he crushed their bodies together up against the window, they grew intrigued.

Lips locked, Beelzebub wrapped their arms around Gabriel’s neck, grinding their straining effort against him. Their mouths slid against each other’s, tongues entwining, teeth dragging across bottom lips, and-

Something didn’t feel right.

“W-wait!” Beelzebub mumbled against the Archangel’s mouth.

Gabriel pulled back, breathing heavily, eyes filled with lust.

Beelzebub had some choice things they wanted to do to that face. Later. _Later._

They snapped their fingers and, in an instant, their positions were reversed.

Beelzebub was stood on their feet with Gabriel pressed up against the window.

"That's better," they smirked, and dove right back in, smushing their mouths together and moving against him.

They were put off, however, by Gabriel trying not to laugh.

“B-beelz. Beelz,” he chuckled against their eager lips.

“What?!” They snapped, annoyed.

“My feet are still touching the floor.”

Beelzebub looked down. The Archangel was right. He was in a sitting position pushed up against the glass.

They buzzed in irritation. _Definitely_ should’ve applied for a taller corporation. “Wrap your legs around me then!” they said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And really, it was.

Gabriel did as he was told, and Beelzebub took all his weight on their hips, holding him firmly against the glass wall. He yelped as they squeezed his buttocks cradled in their hands.

"How attached are you to this suit?" Beelzebub growled into his mouth, biting at his lower lip and letting it go with a _thwap._

Gabriel let out a little whine, and really seemed to consider his options before saying,

"Fuck the suit."

"Don't mind if I do."

\--

They lay there on the ground again, surrounded by tattered pieces of suit. Gabriel held Beelzebub to his beating chest as his heart gradually slowed.

It reminded Beelzebub of their first time together, except they weren't trying to squirm away as much.

He hummed into their hair, and pressed a kiss there. They suppressed a cringe, still not used to the affection.

"Do you feel better now?" Gabriel’s voice sounded deep and satisfied.

"Mm," was all they replied.

"Thanks," he continued quietly.

" 'the fuck are you thanking a Demon for?" They grouched, looking up at him in disgust.

"For worrying about me," he smiled, pearly whites flashing.

Beelzebub buzzed low, and rested their head back on his chest, looking out onto a darkening city, the sun now falling behind the buildings in the distance.

"Don't mention it," they mumbled to themself, still entranced by this view hours later.

"So," Gabriel began, "Heaven has more or less accepted this, so long as they think I'm _converting _you or whatever. How was Hell?" He asked tentatively.

Beelzebub was drawn out of their reverie, and face palmed so hard it would've bruised a lesser being.

"What?!" Gabriel asked, startled.

"Those fucking idiots. Those _morons._ Those **_imbeciles!_**" They sat up, and rested their elbows against their raised knees, head in hands.

"They tortured you, didn’t they,” the Archangel said with concern. "Threw you into the darkest pit- threatened you with Holy Water! You know we wouldn’t have provided that, right?"

Beelzebub had no idea where Gabriel got his information on Hell from,[1] but he couldn't be farther from the truth.

They waited a beat before answering.

"They threw me a fucking party."

"Uh," was all that left the Archangel’s lips, as he gaped at them in shock.

“I received a party popper to the face, and then the denizens danced for _days._"

Gabriel looked like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or continue looking shocked like an idiot.

"They gave me gifts upon gifts, pledging fealty to me."

"Hadn't they already pledged fealty to you?" he asked finally, throat sounding a little dry.

"Right??" Beelzebub scowled, and leaned back against their hands.

"So...what was the occasion?" He asked, unsure.

"The temptation of an _Archangel._"

With that, there was a knock on the door.

Beelzebub looked at Gabriel, whose jaw hung open in disbelief, and decided to be the one to answer it. They got up, and opened the door to reveal a delivery man holding a large basket wrapped in cellophane.

The delivery man looked Beelzebub up and down, wide eyed.

Beelzebub frowned, and looked down at themself.

They were wearing a white, form fitting vest, which covered their _mostly_ flat, but still ambiguous, chest, and some short white boxers that clung to their current effort. It was comfortable.

They looked behind themself at Gabriel, who was still lying on the floor with his mouth hung open like a cheap sex doll.

Then they looked back at the delivery man with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, human?” They demanded, impatiently.

The delivery man swallowed. “Delivery for you sir- miss- uh-” he stammered, handing over the basket.

The cellophane squeaked as Beelzebub took it from him. They looked at it confused.

“I’ll need a signature, misssir...?” The delivery man continued, producing a clipboard and a pen.

Beelzebub signed, but their signature didn’t burn or fizz as they expected. This was an entirely human invoice.

“Thank you ssssi-” The delivery man cut himself off before even finishing the sentence, folding the clipboard underneath his arm, and rubbing at his brow in stress.[2]

Beelzebub eyed the human impatiently. “Are we done?”

“Yes-”

No sooner had the word passed his lips; Beelzebub closed the door in his face, and squinted at the basket they were holding.

It contained a multitude of things, including an electric kettle, a couple of mugs, a box of teabags, a jar of instant coffee, some longlife UHT milk, a small pot of sugar, some teaspoons, some dishcloths, dish soap, a scrubbing sponge, a roll of kitchen towel, and a roll of toilet paper.

Beelzebub tore the cellophane off, and plugged the kettle in straight away. Despite not filling it with any water, it boiled anyway, and they prepared the instant coffee in the mugs. They looked at the design on each mug, and handed the one that disgusted them most over to the still non-functioning Archangel on the floor of their London flat.[3]

They sipped theirs, feeling the burn on their tongue, appreciating the lacklustre taste of the cheap coffee.

Gabriel lay, mug cradled in his hands on his stomach, staring at the ceiling. Finally, he closed his mouth, swallowed, and shook his head minutely. “I’m sure I would’ve noticed if you had tempted me.”

“Well I didn’t,” Beelzebub replied, mug pressed against their lips.

Gabriel sat up like a corpse rising, and frowned at the Demon Prince. “But they think you did.”

They grumbled into their drink.

“Say again?” said the Archangel.

Beelzebub placed the mug on the floor, and hugged their knees to their chest. “Michael. She called and told them the extent of our relati-” they caught themself, “of what this is. Then they believed what they wanted.”

“And you tempting me was the _only _solution they could come to? Couldn’t a Demon just be loved without tempting someone?”

“Only an idiot would love a Demon.”

Gabriel had a look of consideration on his face, before answering, “...fair.”

The Archangel finally sipped at his mug, and pulled a sour face at the taste of the instant coffee. “Ugh, that is _evil_. Who sent this?” He looked at the decal on the mug, and his face turned to one of silent appreciation for the pun.

Beelzebub shrugged. “A human brought it.” They pointed with a thumb to the basket behind them.

“Was there a note?” Gabriel asked, having another sip of his drink, face contorting again.

The Demon Prince looked him dead in the eyes, stuck their hand out towards the basket, and a piece of card flew out of it, landing between their fingers.

They squinted at it together. It read:

_Enjoy your new home._

_ <strike>the fuck</strike>_ [4]

_Now leave us alone._

^

_Here you’ll find some items to get you settled in, the human way._

_I hope they see you well until you’ve had the chance to furnish._

Beelzebub looked around the empty flat. “We can furnish?”

Gabriel nodded. “It’s ours. We can do what we like with it.”

The Demon Prince made a noise of understanding, and clicked their fingers.

A bed appeared where traditionally a sofa would be, and a familiar looking desk, complete with name plate, appeared where the dining table was likely to go.

“Did you just miracle that bed into existence?” Gabriel asked. If Beelzebub had any reason to assume so, they would think he looked a little uneasy at the notion.

“No, I bought it.” They frowned at him.

“With human currency?”

“Well, they don’t accept Demon currency, do they, Archangel?”

“How do _you_ have human currency?” He asked suspiciously.

“I siphon it out of a billionaires offshore account.”

“That’s stealing.” Gabriel made a judgemental face at them.

They gave him a bored look. “It’s not like they’re using it.”[5]

The Archangel moved on, looking between the bed and one of the doors on the far wall. “I’ve been told the bed is meant to go in the bedroom,” he said with confidence.

Beelzebub tsked, and got up off the floor, walking over to the table. “I like the view in here. Besides,” they added, “I sent some of the gifts I received up here before I left Hell. They should’ve ended up in there.”

Gabriel, still in tatters, and covered in light scratches, stood up and walked towards the room curiously. Beelzebub caught his wrist, spun him round, and pinned him against the side of the desk in a familiar and well visited position.[6]

“Speaking of gifts-” they began, and opened one of the desk drawers, in much the same manner Gabriel had done for them not too long ago. They pulled out something wrapped in brown paper, and handed it to him.

He took it, and looked between it and Beelzebub, as if unsure of what he should be feeling.

They looked at him expectantly, arms crossed.

“Beelz...” he eventually said, breathlessly. “You got me something?”

Beelzebub chewed the inside of their cheek. They’d never felt self-conscious before, but if they had to guess, then this would be it. “A return gift,” they said simply.

“You thought of a gift all by yourself,” the Archangel smiled, barely able to contain his joy.

His love was showing again, but by now Beelzebub had more or less gotten used to it. As bright and distracting as it was.

They grumbled. “No. I went to that infuriating bookshop for advice. I came up with the actual gift myself though.”

Gabriel paused. “You entered the bookshop,” he said doubtfully.

Beelzebub smirked. “Waltzed right in. No barriers.”

“That _damned_ bookshop!” The Archangel swore under his breath.

As much as it delighted them to see him get irate, the Demon Prince was getting impatient.

“Open it, Archangel.” They poked the brown paper wrapping.

Gabriel blinked, having forgotten that he was holding anything at all, and tore at the paper.

Inside revealed a deep purple collar. It was made of leather, had a silver buckle, and was decorated with matching silver fly-shaped studs. Above a large ring for attaching a leash was a black fly-shaped stud, with ruby coloured eyes.

The Archangel Gabriel made a choked noise, and his lack of clothing only made his physical response to the gift painfully apparent.

They kicked his feet out from under him, causing him to land on his knees, and took the collar from his hands to place around his neck.

“Oof! You could’ve just asked!” Gabriel whined.

“I know.”

Beelzebub wrapped the collar around his throat, and fastened the buckle on just the wrong side of _too much_. He didn’t need to breathe anyway.

They hooked their finger through the loop, and tilted his head up to look at them. His eyes were wet, but he just looked so damned happy.

“B-beelz. We’ve not rested enough. Our corporations aren’t ready yet.” Gabriel swallowed against the tightness of the collar. It bobbed up and down as he did so.

“They will be.” They sneered at him, holding out the card sent by the two idiots.

Their finger covered one line, but beneath it read:

_P.S Consider us even:_

_Our corporations’ refractory period can be turned **off**._

_Now seriously, leave us alone.**♡**_

The heart was drawn out of flies.

“I didn’t need to know that,” Gabriel said with a nose wrinkle.

“I did.” Beelzebub grinned.

They pulled him towards them using the loop of the collar, planting his head firmly between their thighs.

\--

After fuck knows how many times; on the floor, against the desk, _on_ the desk, and--on one memorable occasion--the ceiling, the Archangel and Demon Prince ended up under the duvet on the preposterously comfortable bed.

Beelzebub sat propped up against the pillows, completely naked now, with a just as naked Gabriel cuddled up to their side, head resting against their breast bone, panting slowly, collar still tightly worn around his neck. The look on his face was one of pure wonder.

Beelzebub had never seen him look so fucked out in all their time together. It pleased them greatly.

"You really are the Archangel Fucking Gabriel now." They smirked, dropping their arm from behind their head and resting it on his shoulder.

Definitely a sign of possession, and nothing else. Absolutely not a sign of affection. Nope.

Gabriel burst out laughing, the noise strangled by the restrictive collar which moved up and down as he chuckled.

Beelzebub took pity on him, and reached down to loosen it by one notch. The Archangel sighed in relief, and really buried his face into the Demon Prince's shallow flesh.

"I love it," he murmured against their skin. "Thank you."

Beelzebub grumbled and tightened their grip on the Archangel in defiance. Yup. _Defiance_.

"You've got to stop thanking Demons."

"It was the perfect gift. Makes me wonder what gifts the Demons of Hell got you," Gabriel smiled up at them, relishing in all the attention.

"Hmm just the usual. Old blunt weapons. More cups of coffee than I could ever drink. For some reason, someone gave me a-"

_CLUCK_

They paused. They'd forgotten.

"Was that a chicken??" Gabriel exclaimed.

Beelzebub bolted out of the bed, and ripped open the door to what was meant to be the bedroom.

"SHIT!" they swore loudly.

Gabriel scrambled to join them at their side.

"What the-"

"Fucker ate the Pokemon Cards!" Beelzebub raged, grabbing the chicken and throwing it into the bathroom before closing the door on it.

"What is this stuff?" Gabriel asked, confused.

"Gifts to me. Tributes," Beelzebub sighed. "It got into the muffins too."

The Archangel walked into the room, turning up his nose at all the food items, partially pecked or not, before reaching down and picking up the saddle and a suspender belt.

“What’re these for?” he asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

Beelzebub smirked in amusement. “You’ll find out. Eventually.”

He hummed in response, kicked a dildo over in curiosity, before exiting the room again.

“So you’ve claimed the room as yours, I take it,” he said, glancing back at the chaos inside.

They shrugged. “I’ll need it as an office. I’m working from home until further notice.”

“Home,” Gabriel echoed, in awe.

Beelzebub missed it. “I’m not going back down there until they can sort their shit out.”

“Home,” the Archangel said again, this time with more reverence.

Couldn’t miss that one. Gabriel was positively _glowing_ with unabated love.

Beelzebub looked away from him in disgust, and definitely not to hide the high blush that appeared on their cheeks. They collapsed back into bed, and pulled the duvet back over their head.

They heard Gabriel’s bare feet slapping against the hard wood floor, probably picking up the scraps of his latest desecrated suit, when he said, “What does this mean?”

Beelzebub peeked out from under the duvet to see that he was holding a handful of fabric in one hand, and a small card he was reading in the other.

The card from the basket of goods the idiots sent.

“‘_We kindly ask that you consider our request one last time’_?” He read off the card with eyes squinting. He looked up at the Demon Prince. “They made a request from you? How dare they be so insolent!”

Beelzebub’s mouth twitched at Gabriel’s irritation. He caught them watching him.

“What did they request of you?” he hummed, sitting on the edge of the bed.

They didn’t answer.

“Don’t you want to tell me what they requested from you?” he tried again, placing his hand on their bent knee, holding their gaze.

Beelzebub’s mouth twitched _again_. “You’re shit at tempting, you know that?”

Gabriel scowled, and lay down beside them.

“Come on. Tell me,” he purred.

The Demon Prince pulled the duvet up higher, nearly completely covering their face. He rested his forehead against theirs, eyes of amethyst swirls piercing through their own.

He rubbed his nose against their blanketed one, and pressed a kiss where their mouth was.

Beelzebub felt like their entire head was on fire. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Fine!” they roared, pushing him off them, covers and all.

Gabriel’s smile was blinding. Beelzebub shuddered.

“They asked me to marry them,” they said, crossing their arms.

“Marry you?!” Gabriel nearly choked.

Beelzebub shook their head, and grasped at their hair.

“Asked me to _officiate their wedding,_” they corrected, feeling nauseous at the thought.

Gabriel did choke at that. He coughed violently before saying, “Why you?”

Beelzebub didn’t answer.

“Well, of course you can’t officiate their wedding!” Gabriel raged, “That would be ridiculous!”

The Demon Prince’s mouth twitched. They couldn’t tell if it was in amusement, or annoyance.

“I agree,” they replied simply.

“An Angel can’t be married by the Prince of Hell, even if it is to a Demon! That’s unheard of! Absolutely not, I forbid it.”

Their mouth twitched again, this time downwards. It was in annoyance.

“Me marrying them would upset you, would it?” they said, deadpan.

“Upset me? It would infuriate me!” he seethed back.

They felt a chuckle brewing in their chest. The amusement was back.

“So if I agreed to it, you’d get angry?” they hedged.

“Livid,” he confirmed.

Beelzebub burst out laughing, and cackled for the rest of night.

\--

A note, as delivered by flies, arrived on the desk in the bookshop.

It read;

_I’ll do it - BLZBub_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Ok, so, I will be real with you here. I struggled writing the first two chapters of this story _so_ much. I had S.A.D, and was pushing through Imposter Syndrome, and then just as I was halfway through writing this one I found out I was pregnant (!! after too many years of trying), so I was dealing with the shock of that, along with _horrendous_ nausea. All in all, it all adds up to terrible Writers Block.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this bit of fluff, and it was worth the wait at least a little. I really enjoyed writing it, in the end, and I'm so relieved that it's finally out there <3
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, as it fuels my creativity. Kudos are appreciated too :)
> 
> You can find me, and my pregnancy announcement, on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/joseyxneko).
> 
> This series is either finished, or going on a break until I get more story ideas. Until then, I've got some new stuff brewing. Subscribe to my profile to read those when they come out :D
> 
> Thank you again!
> 
> ** Footnotes **
> 
> 1Except they did. It was Michael, and it was obvious she embellished a lot of her Intel.[return to text]
> 
> 2As polite and forthcoming as he was, the delivery man was completely unprepared for how to address a person, or person shaped being, of indeterminate gender.[return to text]
> 
> 3The mug they handed over to Gabriel had a picture of a bee on it, with the yellow stripes blacked out with Sharpie. The words on it read ‘Bee, my Valentine’, the comma drawn with the same black Sharpie. It was a gift Aziraphale had received in the 90’s from a random customer, and he was glad to have finally found a good use for it.
> 
> The alternative mug Beelzebub had kept for themself to drink from read ‘Made in Heaven’, and sported a Freddie Mercury decal. It had formerly been a Sound of Music mug that Crowley had gotten Aziraphale as a joke. Unfortunately, he’d left it in the Bentley for a few weeks, and it had subsequently been Queened.[return to text]
> 
> 4“Crowley! You can't put that!" Aziraphale huffed, striking it out.[return to text]
> 
> 5In doing so, Beelzebub was actually putting the money back into the economy, inadvertently doing good. When Gabriel came to understand this later on, he decidedly kept it to himself.[return to text]
> 
> 6They would’ve been deep gashes on a normal being, but being an Archangel certainly had its merits.[return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/joseyxneko).


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